


Overwatch Winterludes

by NiteWrighter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Holidays, Mistletoe, Multi, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-14 04:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteWrighter/pseuds/NiteWrighter
Summary: interlude | ˈin(t)ərˌlo͞od |noun1 an intervening period of time• a pause between the acts of a play.2 • something performed during a theater intermission• a piece of music played between other pieces or between the verses of a hymn.• a temporary amusement or source of entertainment that contrasts with what goes before or afterWinter | ˈwin(t)ər |nounthe coldest season of the year, in the northern hemisphere from December to February and in the southern hemisphere from June to August.I didn't want to spam my main Overwatch prompt work with my holiday prompts, so here's my Holiday fic prompt dump. Includes AU's and alternate pairings as well as next-gen nonsense.





	1. Gency, Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for a Winter-Themed Gency Week, Day 1: Chocolate  
> (taking place pre-fall of Overwatch)

Genji was frowning over a book in one of Zurich’s rec rooms when the door slid open and Mercy scrambled in and braced her back against the wall next it, panting hard. Genji glanced up from book and looked at her. She was dressed casually, comfortably, almost frumpily, with a thick nordic sweater and jeans.

“Genji–You have to hide me,” her voice was hushed.

Genji looked up from the book at her and blinked his red eyes a few times. “Excuse me?” he said, his slightly reverberating voice hushed as well.

“You’re good at hiding, right?” said Mercy, giving a nervous glance back at the door next to her.

_Arguably the best._  “Yes…” Genji said hesitantly.

“I… I’ve done something terrible,” she said, glancing back at the door.

“You?” Genji arched an eyebrow, “Terrible?”

“I just… I wasn’t thinking and it was silly and—Just–Hide me. Please?”

Genji only had to consider it for half a thought before he said “Yes.” He wasn’t sure what Mercy considered ‘Terrible,’ but whatever it was he figured he had hid McCree from Reyes for far worse things. He wondered who Mercy could possibly be hiding from. 

“How long do you need to hide?” he said.

“Not too long, maybe an hour, tops,” said Mercy.

Genji extended a hand to her and she took it. They moved quickly. He had numerous perches and hiding spots around the watchpoint, and he would be lying if he said he had never used one to avoid an appointment with her once or twice when he was feeling particularly bitter about his prosthetics and was unwilling to have them closely examined. He could spare a hiding spot for her though. He kind of liked the idea of her hiding as well, in an odd way. She always seemed to exist at this intersect of perfect and at her limit, heaping more and more onto herself. It was kind of nice to see her finally go ‘the hell with it’ and not want to deal with something or someone. That was worth giving away  _one_  of his hiding spots for.

He lead her down a short hallway from the rec room to one of the storage spaces near the hangar that mainly served as a docking bay for the automated cleaning units for the orcas and dropships. The space was dark, about the size of a large bedroom, but with an extremely high ceiling to accommodate a high platform where the hovering cleaning drones could perch. Genji easily leapt and rebound off of a wall, clambering up onto this high platform, then looked over the edge to see Mercy hurrying behind him. There was a brief moment where he wondered why she didn’t simply fly to him, but then he remembered that obviously she couldn’t wear the valkyrie wings  _all_  the time and it wouldn’t make sense to wear them  _now._ She moved to the ladder up to the platform, but to save time he extended his prosthetic hand to her, she took it, and he hoisted her up easily.

 She gasped with some surprise at the movement and clambered up onto the platform, a little short of breath from nervousness. “Sometimes I forget how strong we made those prosthetics,” she said, pushing her hair back.

“…I didn’t hurt you, did I?” said Genji.

“What? No, why?” she took his prosthetic hand and poked at several of the joints at the base of his fingers, “If you’ve been losing grip control, we may need to recali–”

“I’m fine,” Genji instinctively pulled his hand back from hers, curling his fingers inward, “Just making sure,” he said, stiffly, before getting up and staying low, “Come over here.”

They moved across the platform toward the wall, where there was a single grate venting the room out to a well-lit hallway.

“Sorry, I should have asked,” said Mercy.

Genji shrugged, “I understand,” he said.

Mercy looked around the dark storage area, “Thank you for this,” she said, smiling.

“I’m just wondering why you would need to hide in the first place,” said Genji.

“Oh it’s–”

“ _Morceau du merde_ –Am I living with  _animals?_ ” Mercy was cut off by a clear, french-accented voice coming from the hall. Both Mercy and Genji looked through the slats in the grate to Gérard Lacroix briskly walking down the hall, some kind of long cardboard object in on hand, and Gabriel Reyes following behind.

“Gérard, those things are cheap as hell at the supermarket–”

“Yes, they are cheap, but I brought this from  _Paris._  If I wanted to get one of the same brand, I would have to go back. To  _Paris_. But some…some fiend has completely ransacked it! Look at it!” He held up a cute cardboard advent calendar with every day punched out, “14 days left and the thief ate all of them! Who… who  _does_  this to an Advent calendar!? It’s monstrous! It’s the  _principle,_  Gabriel.”

Genji’s eyes flicked to Mercy, even in the low light of the storage area, she was bright red.

“Well… international organization and all… maybe the thief didn’t know.” 

“Honestly!” Gérard scoffed, “Gabriel, I respect you, but so help me if you’re covering for that McCree again–”

“I’m sure Jesse didn’t steal your chocolate, Gérard.”

“He stole my  _pan bagnat_  only last week!” 

“You know neither of us have time for this, right?”

“It’s the  _principle_ –”

They continued bickering all down the hall and Mercy and Genji watched as they rounded a corner and disappeared.

“…you ate his chocolate,” said Genji, his eyes wide.

Mercy buried her face in her hands. “I was tired, and hungry, and–and my cravings get worse in cold weather–and I  _swear_  I have impulse control! I do!”

 “Are Advent calendars really that important?” asked Genji.

“Well it’s…” Mercy huffed, “They’re usually easily replaced but you just… don’t eat them all at once. It’s supposed to kind of be this… little thing you do every day until Christmas to make the month feel more special, I guess. I mean if I had known that particular Advent calendar was one he only got in Paris, maybe I would have been able to stop myself…Like Gérard said, it’s the principle.” 

Genji snickered, “Good to know even the immaculate Doctor Ziegler falls victim to her own impulses sometimes,” he said, itching at the top of his faceplate.

“ _Immaculate?_ ” Mercy wrinkled her nose, “Oh come on, Genji, you know me better than that.” 

“Fine, immaculate and an ugly sleeper,” said Genji, recalling the numerous times he had found her passed out at her desk.

Mercy scoffed. “Rude.”

“This means I can blackmail you now, you know,” said Genji.

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Mercy. 

They both fell quiet as two Overwatch staff members walked down the hall outside the grate, they heard bits and pieces of the conversation, but both were more distracted now by their close proximity to each other, the actual intimacy of their circumstances–alone, hidden away in a dark place. They watched and waited as the two staff members continued down the hall and disappeared around the corner before Mercy glanced away from the grate to Genji.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Genji said, quietly.

A few seconds of silence passed between them and Mercy cleared her throat.

“So…. hide here often?” she tilted her head.

“It’s not my only hiding spot, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Genji.

“Come here to eavesdrop?” she smiled slyly.

Genji shrugged, “If I want to listen in to people’s conversations, I don’t necessarily need to hide someplace like this to do it. No I… I’d usually stay here to get away from things. Morrison. Reyes. Tedious meetings.”

“My appointments,” said Mercy, folding her arms.

“…once or twice,” Genji admitted, “I have people-watched from here sometimes, though. It is a nice change of pace from Blackwatch… hearing people talk about relief efforts and ecowatch…”

“We really should talk to Jack about transferring you to–”

“You know that is not an option,” Genji’s voice went cold, he realized he cut her off and his red eyes flicked up to her, “Sorry. Just… you know Overwatch’s reputation can’t…” he trailed off, “It’s not my skillset, anyway.”

Mercy pursed her lips. 

He gestured at his red eyes glaring out from between the steel plates of his mask, “You know  _this_  isn’t what people think when they think ‘hero’ is all. They think of… they think of people like you.”

Mercy was quiet for a few beats before looking thoughtful, and then smiling a little and putting a hand on his shoulder.

 “Well I suppose that’s their problem,” said Mercy firmly, “Because right now you’re  _my_ hero.” 

Genji felt his face burning beneath the faceplate and for a second his vocal circuits tensed and he made a nervous sound that was part cough part white noise.

“Thank you,” said Mercy, pulling her hand back and tucking her hair behind her ear, “For hiding me.”

“Oh well…” Genji’s face was still burning, “It… it was nothing.”

A pause passed between them and Mercy watched as another group of Overwatch staff walked through the hall below. “I should probably be getting back to work as well… best alibi, right?”

“Right,” said Genji, watching as she stood up and clambered down from the platform. He paused and added, “If you ever feel the need to ravage another advent calendar, don’t hesitate to call me.”

Mercy’s snickers echoed off the walls of the storage space.


	2. Prompt: Original Overwatch Gency, "Who sent this gift?

Genji squinted at the needle before he stuck the thread through the eye of it. He gave a glance to the white beret in his lap, which he had managed to clean the dirt and smoke off of. He gave a glance to the two holes in the hat, the one in the back larger than the one in the front. 

“…I’m gonna stop you right there,” Genji heard a voice behind him and he flinched hard, dropping the needle.

“ _Kuso…_ ” muttered Genji, looking around for the needle. Gabriel Reyes stepped around him and picked up the needle.

“Thanks—” Genji reached for the needle and Gabriel Reyes pulled the needle back slightly.

“Question,” said Reyes, “Where’d you get that?” he pointed at the white beret in Genji’s lap with the needle.

“…it…got shot off back in the London Uprising…” said Genji, “She left it behind. Since it was a covert operation I thought it… would be prudent not to leave evidence Overwatch had been there.”

“Sure,” said Gabriel, sitting next to him, “But it’s clear you have no idea what you’re doing.” He grabbed the spool of thread from Genji’s hand, stuck the end of the thread between his lips, quickly and expertly threaded the needle, cut the string, tied knot at the opposite end of it, and then held his free hand out to Genji.

“Hat,” said Reyes.

“Oh–” Genji handed the hat over. Gabriel turned the hat inside out and set to work mending the first hole in the hat.

“So… Christmas gift then?” said Gabriel, quickly and easily closing the hole and cutting residual thread. 

“…Is it really a gift if you’re just returning something they lost?” said Genji. Gabe shrugged then turned the hat over and set to work on the other hole.

“Depends on the intention,” said Gabe. He paused. “You and Doctor Ziegler…” he started.

“Our relationship is strictly professional,” said Genji, “But… I am… grateful to her. And her efforts. And support.”

“She cares a lot about you too,” said Gabe, cutting the thread on the second mended hole and holding the hat up to the light, “I mean, I assume she does, considering how much she yells at me and Jack about your prosthetics this and your psych eval that.” 

Genji’s eyes widened. “I… I see,” he said.

“I’d tell you ‘Don’t shit where you eat’ but…” Gabriel shrugged and handed the hat over to Genji, “I have no intention of taking that advice myself anytime soon,” he smiled a little.

“…Sir?” said Genji.

Gabriel patted him on the shoulder and stood up. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, he motioned toward the hat and glanced at his watch. “Only three more hours to Christmas. Better get moving,” he said, walking away.

—–

Snow was falling on Zurich outside the windows as Mercy and Jack walked through the halls, Mercy scrolling through her tablet.

“You really shouldn’t spend Christmas Eve working,” said Jack. Mercy glanced over her shoulder at him with a half smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“My excuses are ‘I’m strike commander’ and ‘I already have plans so don’t worry,’ said Jack, putting his hands on his hips, “Please tell me you’ll at least make it to the party later.”

“I will, I just need to square some things away first,” said Mercy, putting her hand against the panel next to her office door. The door slid open and she walked in. “It shouldn’t take me more than a few…” she noticed something on her desk and walked over.

“Something wrong?” said Jack. Mercy picked up a white beret from the desk. It had one of those adhesive bows stuck to it, a green one at that. She saw the points where the hat had been mended and her eyes widened. It was  _her_  hat. 

“…I thought I lost this…” she said quietly.

“…is there a card?” said Jack, stepping up alongside her. Mercy turned the hat over, then looked over her desk. 

“I… I don’t think so,” she said.

“Huh,” said Jack, shrugging, “Well… Merry Christmas from your… mysterious stranger then?” he said. His comm beeped. “Ah gotta get going,” he said, glancing at a notification at his comm. He started walking off briskly. “And you’re going to that party!” he said as he headed out the door.

“Understood, Strike Commander,” said Mercy with a smile as Jack walked off. She glanced back down at the hat, “Merry Christmas…” she said softly to herself.


	3. Prompt: Symmarah, Skiing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...lowkey inspired by true events.

“I can’t—I can’t do this—I thought I could but–Fareeha– _please_ —!” Symmetra’s eyes were wide and her braid was whipping around in the mountain air.

“Hey—hey it’s okay!” Pharah put a hand on Symmetra’s shoulder, “Look at me—Don’t look down, look at me—” Pharah placed a hand on the side of Symmetra’s face, “You are in charge of your destiny,” said Pharah, looking at Symmetra.

“But—” Symmetra started.

There were two short  _kachunk_ sounds as Pharah jammed downward with her ski pole twice.

“Okay,” said Pharah bringing her pole back, “You can step out of your skis now.”

Symmetra was gripping Pharah’s arm with her poles hanging at her wrists as she awkwardly brought her chunky boots out of the skis and stepped onto the packed snow of the slope. Pharah clicked out of her own ski boots and brought them up on her shoulder. “I can carry yours if you like,” she said, moving further to the side of the slope and walking uphill, “Walk’s not too long back to the bunny hill,” said Pharah.

“Hmph,” Symmetra shouldered her own skis and followed after her.

“Or I could just carry  _you_  down the slope,” said Pharah with a grin.

Symmetra gave a wary glance to the moguls lacing over each other midway down the hill. “…I don’t think so,” she said, adjusting her goggles. Pharah shrugged. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” she said, as Satya trudged up next to her and they reached the crest of the hill again. 

“Indignity, thy name is bunny slope,” said Symmetra, looking down the much shorter hill towards the lodge and the chain of Ski school toddlers heading down the hill at a snail’s pace while their instructor repeatedly shouted “Pizza!” and “French Fries!” at them.

“Satya, it’s not a big deal,” said Pharah, “I’ve been skiing with my dad almost as soon as I could walk. You’re doing great for your first day.”

Symmetra just huffed again and Pharah kissed her on the temple. “Come on,” said Pharah getting her skis back on. She nodded her head toward the lodge, “I’m down to take a break if you are.”

Symmetra smiled, tapped the snow off of the bottom of her boots, and clicked back into them again.  

“Race you down?” said Pharah as Symmetra slid up next to her.

Symmetra just grinned, pushed forward with her poles and took off down the hill.

“Hey!” said Pharah, and she took off after her.

—

Symmetra stirred her cocoa with a candy cane with Pharah’s arm around her. Pharah’s own cocoa was topped with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick. Their ski boots rested next to the ski lodge couch as they rested their feet on the warm hearthstones of the lodge fireplace, feeling the heat through woolen socks.

“Still have a few more runs in you after this?” said Pharah, wiping whipped cream off her lip as Symmetra snuggled close under her arm. 

“…I would be willing,” said Symmetra, tapping the half-dissolved candy cane on the rim of her mug. 

“Black diamond?” said Pharah.

Symmetra shot her a look.

“Kidding,” said Pharah, clinking her mug against Symmetra’s, “Blue square.”

“I thought so,” said Symmetra, sipping her cocoa.


	4. Prompt: Meihem, Gifts and Mistletoe

“Can you hold this?” Mei stuck the little plastic mistletoe on one of Snowball’s outstretched panels. The drone chirped and hovered about cheerfully as Mei herself hung paper snowflakes around her lab. Decorating for the different seasons back at Ecopoint Antarctica was supposed to ward off potential depression that came from being without direct sunlight for so long, and it was still a force of habit that cheered her up, even now in Gibraltar. She heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said, not bothering to get down from her step stool.

The door slid open and Junkrat strolled in. Mei only gave him a cursory glance over her shoulder.

“If you want more blocks of sodium, I can’t get you any,” said Mei, resuming hanging up snowflakes.

“It’s ah…. it’s not that, Frostee-Freeze,” said Junkrat, straightening up a bit more. She turned around and stepped down from the stepstool.

She always forgot how tall he was when he wasn’t hunched over from that tire. And he was wearing a shirt and itching behind his ear uncomfortably with one hand behind his back.

“Is… something wrong?” said Mei.

Junkrat cleared his throat, “So… Space Ape’s got me and Roadie headin’ towards a real dicey-lookin’ mission back home, and I–I had this,” he took the hand out from behind his back to reveal a small and narrow rectangular box wrapped in newspaper, “And I was waitin’ for Christmas to give it to ya but I figured you should have it now in case anything… you know…” Junkrat gestured. He held the box out to Mei. Mei took the box.

“…It’s not going to explode when I open it, is it?” said Mei, looking sharply up at him through her glasses. 

“Aw come on, Sno-Cone, you really think I’d—?”

Mei put one hand on her hip and gave him a steady look and he cleared his throat.

“I mean it’s…” he said, “…it’s a fair assumption but just—It’s not going to explode, alright?”

Mei shrugged. “Okay then,” she said, tearing back the newspaper.

“You don’t need to wear it if you don’t want!” Junkrat added as Mei opened the brown box, “Just… thought you might want the option.”

“Did… did you make this?” said Mei.

It was a very carefully, almost obsessively crafted copper and bronze hair stick. The bead at the end of it was pale yellow desert glass with a vein of orange running through it, held in place by a spiral of copper wire. Dangling down from the base of the bead on a dainty chain were what appeared to be watch gears. 

“Yeah you know I had the pieces lying around I always thought they were kind of pretty and you might…” Junkrat trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not irradiated,” he added, “Hand to God. I ran a geiger counter over every bit.”

“It’s… beautiful,” said Mei. 

“You think so?” said Junkrat.

Mei nodded. “You can be quite the craftsmen when you’re not blowing things up,” she said, smiling.

“I try,” said Junkrat with a shrug. “You can also stab someone in the neck with it, if need be,” he added.

“Thank you, Jameson,” said Mei, flatly.

“It’s not too sharp, mind, but one good jab in the jugular should—”

“I get it. Yes. Thank you, Jameson,” said Mei, furrowing her brow at him.

“My pleasure, Snowflake,” said Junkrat.

Mei suddenly perked up as well. “Oh! I got you something too!” she said hurrying over to her desk and rifling through it.

“You… got me something?” said Junkrat.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it,” she said, pulling what appeared to be a shopping bag out from under her desk, “But I figure it’s best to give it to you sooner rather than later.” She held out the bag to him and he took it. He rifled through the bag and then pulled out a larger, more cubic box. His eyes widened.

“A new soldering iron!” he said, looking at the box, “Shiny and chrome! Oh, Snow Pea, how’d you  _know?_ ”

“Well… your old one looked like it was made of duct tape and garbage,” said Mei.

“That’s exactly what it was made of!” said Junkrat, grinning as he turned the box over and looked at the different features on the box.

“…and every time you used it on your mines I would get scared that you were going to blow up the watchpoint,” said Mei.

“There was, in fact, a 75% chance of that happening, yes,” said Junkrat.

“So I got you this! So we don’t all die!” said Mei, cheerfully.

“Aw, that’s sweet of ya,” said Junkrat, “Happy Christmas, Mei,” he paused, then grinned widely, “Or should I say—”

“Please don’t say Mei-rry Christmas,” said Mei flatly.

“Gotcha,” said Junkrat, “Well, I’d best be on my way. If you need me to pick anything up from Junkertow—” Junkrat was cut off when Snowball hovered over with one of Mei’s paper snowflakes on hand. “Oi–what’s this?” he pointed to the mistletoe on one of Snowball’s panels.

“Oh–that? That’s just—” Mei paused and flushed, “He’s just holding it!” said Mei, insistently.

“S’posed to be good luck, mistletoe kisses,” said Junkrat.

“Jameson…” said Mei, rubbing her forehead.

“And I did say this mission was going to be very dicey. By which I mean, lots of ‘Die’ in the ‘dicey.’ Bit of luck couldn’t hurt.”

Mei huffed. “Just for luck,” she said, grabbing Junkrat by the front of his shirt, yanking him down to her level and kissing him on the cheek. The grin he had on his face after that was completely insufferable.

“You’d better come back alive for that,” said Mei.

“Well if there’s more where that came from, I’ll be happy to,” said Junkrat with a grin.

Mei scoffed and elbowed him in the ribs.


	5. Prompt: Bunnyribbit, Ice Skating

“First of all, it’s bad enough you’re letting me be seen in public with you while you’re wearing that,” said D.Va.

Lúcio glanced down at his green knit sweater, which featured the word (words?) LÚCI-HO-HO in large red block letters as well as his signature headphone frog donning a Santa hat.

“…It’s called branding,” said Lúcio, putting one hand on his hip.

“Second of all…” D.Va glanced down at her skates as she uneasily stepped out onto the ice, “Are you  _sure_  you’re not trying to kill me?”

“You’re doing fine, Song,” said Lúcio, folding his arms and smiling.

“You know, I break my hand or wrist doing this, and it’s game over–I mean literally.  _I need my hands_ , Lúcio,” said D.Va, now struggling forward toward the center of the ice.

“I promise you, you and your hands will be fine,” said Lúcio.

“I don’t even know how can you  _fight_  like thi–Gyah!” D.Va flailed her arms to regain her balance on the ice as Lúcio skated circles around her, both figuratively and literally.

“Well the hard-light skates automatically readjust themselves to my center of gravity. I just decide what surface they go on,” said Lúcio, now skating backwards around her with the slightest pivot of his weight on his heel.

“Okay but you’re still…” D.Va gestured up and down at him.

“Oh this?” Lúcio came to a sharp stop with a spray of ice at the blades of his skates, “ _This_  is 16 years of hockey.”

“Of course it is,” said D.Va flatly.

“Hey. It’s okay,” Lúcio held out a hand to her and she took it, then flailed her free arm again at the slightest shift in her own center of gravity.

“…don’t let go,” said D.Va, glancing down at her skates as Lúcio started moving forward.

“Eyes up. I got you,” said Lúcio.

D.Va looked up at him, then forward across the skating rink. She squeezed his hand as he gradually built up speed so that they were comfortably gliding across the ice.

“You’d better,” she said. He just smiled.


	6. Prompt: Mchanzo, "What are you wearing?"

McCree was throwing darts in the Watchpoint rec room when the door slid open. He heard Hanzo’s slight grunt of a hello.

“How’s it going Hanz–Oh lord,” He spoke mid-throw as he turned his head and the dart hit a bookcase about two feet off from the dartboard, embedding itself in the spine of a paperback romance. 

“What?” said Hanzo, folding his arms.

“Uh…” McCree’s eyes flicked upward to the felt reindeer antler headband that sprang roughly a hand’s length above Hanzo’s head. Studding the reindeer antlers were tiny LED ‘Christmas lights’ in numerous colors, each blinking on and off rhythmically, “Nothing. Did you know you got a…?” McCree gestured at his head.

“I am aware, yes,” said Hanzo, his brow furrowing.

“Interesting…uh… fashion statement,” said McCree.

“It’s  _festive,_ ” said Hanzo, “Am I not allowed to be festive?”

“Nah–it’s uh, it’s good to see you getting into the spirit and all,” he snickered.

“I am a burgeoning font of holiday cheer, Jesse McCree,” said Hanzo, furrowing his brow.

“Sure as shoot you are, partner,” said McCree, putting a hand on his hips. He was quiet for a beat. Hanzo kept his arms folded tightly across himself, looking very intense in spite of his cheerily blinking felt antlers.

“…you lost a bet with Genji, didn’t you?” said McCree, at last.

“…I may have lost a bet with Genji,” Hanzo conceded.


	7. Prompt: Gency, Snow

“You’re sure your armor’s thermoregulation is holding up all right?” said Mercy.

Genji chuckled a little. “It’s fine,” he said

“I can’t help but think you should have a coat–a scarf, at least…” murmured Mercy as the snow crunched beneath her boots, “I know I approved most of the upgrades to your armor but still…” 

“I’m fine,” Genji smiled at her beneath his faceplate.

 She was all bundled up, hardly recognizable save for side-swept blonde bangs and blue-gray eyes peeking out between scarf and hat.  “This place is so different in the winter,” said Mercy, stepping past a snow-covered broken bastion unit, “So quiet…”

“The GPS says Mei’s radiosonde landed somewhere in these woods,” said Genji, looking at his comm, “North of here, it seems.”

Mercy hooked her arm in his. “I like missions like this,” she said, as they walked.

“They are… far more calming,” said Genji, watching the snow pile on the boughs of the pines overhead. He looked at her, noting the light in her eyes. “Cold weather suits you, I see.”

“It’s nice to get away from the infirmary, from Gibraltar, too,” said Mercy, she sighed contentedly and it fogged out through her scarf, “It’s nice to be somewhere with snow, with seasons—You feel time passing, it’s not just weeks disappearing in a blur of wor—”

She was cut off when some snow dropped off of one of the boughs overhead and covered them both in powder. There was a long pause, then both snickered. 

“The cold suits you too,” said Mercy, brushing some snow off of the crest of Genjie’s visor with her mitten. She then cleared her throat and pulled her scarf down from her face, her nose and cheeks instantly reddening in the cold. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on his faceplate.

And stayed there.

 There was another beat.

“Angela?” said Genji.

“mrrm?”

“…your lips are stuck to my faceplate, aren’t they?” 

“Mrrm-fhrrm.”

“All right hold on, we can figure this out.”


	8. Prompt: Gency, Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from "Snow."

They found the radiosonde a handful of klicks north, the snow falling heavier and heavier as they walked. They were on their way back to the Orca when the worst of the storm hit. They were left virtually snowblind in the woods and Mei had to come over the comms and use satellite imaging to guide them to an alpine cabin that had been abandoned back during the crisis. Genji kicked the door open to it, and they entered a dark cabin that was just as cold as it was outside, though thankfully here there was no wind. The storm outside rattled at the windows. After managing to get the door shut again, Mercy pulled a flashlight from her pack, turned it on, found a light switch and flipped it. Nothing. 

“Fuse box,” she said, setting the radiosonde down on a dusty table and walking through the kitchen to find stairs down to the basement. She headed downstairs, found the fuse box, and flipped a switch. “Anything?” she called up the stairs.

“Still dark,” said Genji and Mercy quietly swore as she headed back upstairs, “Well… I’m bundled up and you still have thermoreg–” she paused to see Genji already loading logs into a fireplace.

“Might as well get comfortable,” said Genji, staring at the fireplace, he picked up some matches, “We need some kindling—tinder?

Mercy picked up some fliers from the dusty table that had “Obligatorische Evakuierung” in large letters as well as a small map detailing the position of Omnic units 30 years ago and walked over. “Here,” she said, handing it over to him. He crumpled it up, set it among the logs, and lit it. The fire went up quickly and heat and light started finally filling the small cabin. They sat cross-legged close to it. Mercy pulled off her gloves and held her hands close to the fire, thankful to finally get an outside source of heat. Unthinkingly, Genji did the same before remembering his armor thermoregulated. He turned his hand over and looked at his palms and Mercy glanced over at his hands.

“I’ve always wondered…” said Mercy, “How is the heat sensitivity for your prosthetic? How does it compare?”

Genji looked thoughtful, then pressed at something at the heel of his hand, then again at the distal radioulnar joint, then peeled off the armor covering his organic hand. He held his organic hand close to the fire alongside his prosthetic one.

“Virtually indistinguishable,” he said, bringing his hands back and curling his fingers, “I hardly ever think about it myself with the armor–heat and cold. When we were…” he cleared his throat, “Detaching…”

“Very dignified by the way,” said Mercy, unzipping her overcoat but keeping it on her shoulders like a blanket.

“–and I had to take my faceplate off, the cold just… hit me,” he looked at his unarmored organic hand, “I can’t explain why but… it was nice. I mean I instantly felt my skin chapping and the air was so cold just breathing it in gave me a headache but… I felt… closer somehow.”

“Closer?” said Mercy.

“I’ve accepted what I am for a long time now,” said Genji, “But sometimes those little human experiences are still a surprise when they hit me.”

Mercy reached over and took his prosthetic hand. “Still virtually indistinguishable though?” she said, giving his hand a slight squeeze.

He chuckled then placed his organic hand over hers. “Virtually indistinguishable.” 

He paused and then pressed at the catches of his helmet, and his faceplate clicked off and visor pulled up in a hiss of steam. He pulled the faceplate off. “So um…” he held the faceplate up, “So you don’t…stick… again.”

Mercy snorted. “So courteous,” she said, cupping her hands along his cybernetic jawline as he pulled her in close. They kissed as a log collapsed in the fire, sending up sparks and embers.


	9. Prompt: Spiderbyte, Cold Hands and Christmas Lights

Widowmaker folded her arms. “You are not serious.”

Sombra held up the mittens, “I don’t ask you for much, Araña,” she said.

“Tch,” Widowmaker glanced off.

“They match your outfit….” Sombra said, “And look—” she pulled out a pair of thin gloves from the interior of the mittens, “You can still pull a trigger.”

Widowmaker huffed. “Fine,” she said, holding her hands out. Sombra fit the gloves on.

“You know my body temperature is too far below average for it to make a difference,” said Widowmaker, as Sombra pulled on the mittens over them, “You can’t warm the hands if the body itself isn’t warm.”

“I know,” said Sombra.

“Then why—?” Widowmaker started but Sombra put her hand in Widowmaker’s.

“…ah,” said Widowmaker.

“Come on,” said Sombra, opening the door of her apartment out into the streets of Castillo. Strings of lights hung overhead, hanging between buildings and spiraling up gutters and storm drains. The lights were brighter and more vividly colorful than even the ones at the Festival De La Luz, and displays were made further colorful by deep scarlet and cream-colored and splattered-in-between Poinsettias laying in thick arrangements at doorways and in windowboxes. Widowmaker had never been fond of the flowers herself, something about their size and texture irked her, yet here, they had a certain charm about them.

 Farolitos lined the upper edges of Castillo’s fort, rendering the entire area a bright beacon on the cliffs of Dorado. Widowmaker gave a glance down to the mittens Sombra had given her. It wasn’t terribly cold, being on the Yucatán, but then again they weren’t terribly thick mittens, and aside from that as she had said, her body temperature could hardly be affected by it. There was music, there was dancing, there were children shouting and grandmothers scolding and parents speaking rapidly about gifts and dinners in a clash of voices that gradually turned to an almost rhythmic thrum.The night seemed to spin past them with the crowds in a whirl of light and color. The scent of anise and sugar and honey and fried dough hung warm in the air from the handful of stands selling their treats. Maybe they were dancing at one point. Maybe the dance itself was the just trying to make their way through Castillo’s square and their steps just happened to match the rhythm of the music, and their own movements, sidesteps and pivots, were merely evading those actually dancing.

Sombra was beaming, most of the time. She seemed to have a habit of stopping in front of random window displays and doorways, staring at electrically lit nativity scenes with an unreadable expression then quickly walking on before Widowmaker could question about it. Then at one point she came to a pause before a wall that was a massive patchwork of photos and flowers with candles and poinsettias lining the bottom of it. A memorial, Widow realized, to those lost during the Omnic crisis and those lost in more recent years. Sombra stared at the wall a while, though both knew there would be no photos of her own family on there. She was too careful like that.

“Sombra—” Widowmaker started.

“Thank you for this,” said Sombra.

“What?”

“For putting up with this–I know, it’s… bright. It’s loud. It’s overstimulating,” she pushed her hair back a bit, “But… I can’t remember the last time I was able to do this with someone else.”

Widowmaker’s lips thinned a bit. “I think… this might be my first time since Gérard,” she said quietly. Sombra’s head jerked toward her sharply.

“Not…” Widowmaker gestured at the poinsettias and the lanterns and strings of lights overhead, “Not like this but—I’m… I am glad it’s different.” She brought a knuckle under Sombra’s chin, tilted her chin up and kissed her. “ _Meilleurs vœux, mon coeur._ ”


	10. Prompt: McSombra, Visiting Family for the holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this about a year ago and forgot to post it here. Obviously McSombra is not the designated pairing for McCree but I'll always have a soft spot for McSombra so consider this an AU. Ashe kind of blew this fic out of canon-water but I still like it.

Sombra’s feet were up on the dash and she had two small screens open, lazily scrolling through lines of code on them as McCree drove.

“So… you’re being awfully quiet and mysterious while you’re taking me to meet your family,” said Sombra, scrolling through the projected purple screens with a flick of her finger.

“Billie’s not… well…I mean I guess she’s my godmother,” said McCree, rolling his fingers on the steering wheel, 

Sombra leaned against her window with her chin in her hand and smirked at him.

“I mean, yes, she  _raised_  me but she wasn’t the only one. Look, nothing was super clean-cut back then, Omnic Crisis and all… and then Deadlock…” McCree trailed off. 

“However you want to spin it, you’re taking me to see your family, _Vaquero,_ ” said Sombra, “Pret-ty serious.” 

“…Don’t look too far into it,” said McCree.

“You  _love_  me,” said Sombra, grinning.

“We’re just checking in to see if she’s doing all right,” said McCree, “And look, we both agreed it’d be better than spending another goddamn Christmas at Calaveras.”

Sombra snickered. “Oh what a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McCree!” Sombra spoke in a mock hyper-feminine voice, “We brought you a casserole! Oh, your son is  _so_ handsome!”

“She’s not my—” McCree started.

“I know, I know,” said Sombra, patting his shoulder, “Ease up. I can handle anything your family can throw at me.” 

“Sure hope so,” said McCree.

They pulled off of the cracked and long-neglected highway onto a well-worn dirt road. They drove past rock formations, the odd long-ago scrapped and cannibalized car frame here and there. Something caught Sombra’s eye and with a wave of her hand she closed her screens and brought her feet down from the dash. The ground ahead looked, blue, grassy almost. Then they passed the first plant.

“Huh…” said McCree, “Looks like the operation’s expanded a bit.”

Suddenly both sides of the car were lined with rows and rows of agave plants.

“A farmer?” said Sombra, looking out the window.

“Well… it wasn’t this big last time I was here,” said McCree as a ranch house fenced in by a line of prickly pears, “Dang… she cleaned up, too,” said McCree as the car pulled to a stop. Sombra stepped out of the car and walked around to McCree, stretching her arms high above her head.

“Pretty cute place,” said Sombra, looking at the house, “You wanna ring the doorbell or should—”

McCree heard the  _ch-chk_  of a pump shotgun and suddenly tackled Sombra to the ground behind the car as buckshot spattered the dirt where Sombra had just been standing.

“ _Que mierda—!?_ ” Sombra was scrambling to a seated position hiding behind the car.

There came another  _ch-chk_  of a shotgun reloading.

“You with Deadlock!?” a weathered but strong voice called across the yard.

“We ain’t Deadlock!” shouted McCree.

“I mean…” Sombra started when buckshot hit the dirt next to the car.

“Los Muertos?” the woman yelled.

“No!” McCree shouted back.

“Well… again, technically—” said Sombra.

The shotgun fired again and buckshot kicked up the dirt next to the car.

“You with the law? I got papers!” the woman shouted.

“Billie, gotdammit, it’s me! It’s Jesse!” said McCree.

“Jesse…?” the woman’s voice trailed down from a shout.

 “Now I’m gonna stand up, don’t you shoot me in the face when I do so!” McCree called, “I’m here with a friend! Don’t shoot her either now! We’re getting up, nice and slow!” McCree gave a glance over to Sombra, “Nice and slow,” he repeated to her.

He raised a hand above the hood of the car. No gunfire, and then both of them slowly stood up with their hands up.

“Well I’ll be damned,” the woman standing on the porch of the house shouldered her shotgun, “Jesse McFuckin’ McCree. Back from the goddamn dead.”

“Merry Christmas, Billie,” said McCree, his hands still up.

Billie looked to be in her late 50′s, early 60′s. Her skin was sandy brown, worn by sun and wind, and her hair was dark brown streaked with white and gray in a long narrow braid down her back. Billie pointed her shotgun over at Sombra. “Your friend?” she said.

“Yep,” said McCree. 

She lowered the shotgun. “Got a helluva lot of explaining to do, Jesse,” she said, “You two best get inside.”

Both Sombra and McCree hesitantly walked around the car.

“She’s charming,” said Sombra as they headed up onto the porch.

They walked through a screen door to a well-worn but well-loved house, Sombra paused next to a cork board full of photos and took one off, grinning. “Oh my god—” her hand went over her mouth, “You were so  _skinny_.” 

“Gimme that–” McCree reached for the photo but Sombra pulled it out of his reach.

“Y’all want anything?” said Billie, “Water? Somethin’ stronger? I got dinner on the stove—Pozole con nopales. It’ll still be a little while, but at least there’s enough for everyone—.” Billie stopped walking, “Where are my manners–wait, Jesse, where are  _your_  manners? You gonna introduce us or what?”

“Oh–um—” McCree straightened his posture and cleared his throat, “Billie, this is Sombra, Sombra, I’d like you to meet Willow Quintero.”

“You can call me ‘Billie,’” said Billie, sticking a hand out. Sombra shook it. “Could’ve stood to mention you met someone special,” said Billie, glancing over at McCree.

“I’ve… y’know, been busy,” said McCree.

“Oh I know. Wish you could’ve heard the calls I got. ‘Jesse’s doin’ real good work with Overwatch.’ ‘Scratch that–Jesse was in their secret black-ops espionage and assassination division with no oversight from the UN.’ ‘Whoops. Jesse lost an arm.’ ‘Now, Jesse’s gone and run off with a head full of international secrets and training from the best-slash-worst black-ops institutions in the world, so now there’s a bounty on his ass.’ ‘Good news, Jesse’s off playing vigilante on hypertrains and in a goddamn noodle shop—still with a bounty on his ass, by the way.’ ‘Looks like Jesse’s joined a splinter group of Overwatch, and lord knows how that’s going to go.’ Did I summarize everything all right?” she folded her arms.

McCree gave a look to Sombra that said, ‘Help’ and Sombra just shrugged.

McCree sighed, “Yep…that’s… that’s about the size of it. You callin’ in the authorities on me?”

Billie shook her head. “You’re family, Jesse. I know you. I know there’s more to it than what they’re tellin’ me—but you can bet I want a goddamn explanation.”

“I dunno if I can tell you everything, Billie,” said McCree.

Billie’s brow furrowed. 

“It’s for your safety,” said McCree.

“Tch. I can take care of myself,” she said, going into the kitchen, “Take a seat. Tell me everything you can,” she said, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle out of the cupboard. Sombra and McCree took their seats.

“How much  _do_  we tell her?” said McCree quietly as he heard humming from the kitchen.

“I don’t know–” Sombra said softly.

“Here we go. House special distilled in the barn out back,” said Billie, stepping out of the kitchen and putting mason jars filled with something the color of bougainvillea in front of them, “So… how’d you two meet?”

“Work,” both McCree and Sombra blurted out at the same time. McCree picked up his jar and sniffed at it.

“You’re making tequila?” said McCree, looking at his mason jar.

“It’s not tequila,” Sombra and Billie said at the same time. 

“Not unless it’s from Jalisco,” said Sombra. She gave a skeptical smell to her own drink and gave it a sip, then her eyebrows raised, “Still pretty good though,” she said.

“It’s agave hooch with prickly pear juice,” said Billie, “We make most of the money off the syrup and the plant fibers for rope and livestock feed, but the still does bring in some coin on the side. But mostly it’s for good housewarming. You with that Overwatch splinter too?” Billie glanced over at Sombra.

Sombra’s eyes flicked over to McCree and she picked up her mason jar and swirled her drink in it. “Yep. Overwatch. Known McCree for a while,” said Sombra.

“Blackwatch?” said Billie.

“Cyber-security,” said Sombra. “But I knew Gabe and…uh…” she trailed off, “We worked together.”

“So… what made you leave?” said Billie.

“Things were getting worse between Jack and Gabe. Gabe made me an offer… said I’d have to pick a side eventually,” McCree took a gulp of his drink, both sweet and biting, “I didn’t want to pick a side. I ran.”

“And you?” Billie glanced over to Sombra.

“I resigned,” said Sombra. McCree could feel the wheels of her mind turning, quickly piecing together a convincing, possibly teary backstory for herself. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“She always did have strong principles,” said McCree, elbowing Sombra.

“…Sure,” said Sombra, sipping her own drink. 

The conversation went on, Sombra piecing together her backstory as they talked. She had been only 18 when she joined and oh she had the  _worst_  crush on McCree back in the days of old Overwatch but he was so busy on missions and then of course you had to stay professional and so on and so forth and he all but broke her heart when he left. It was all lies of course, but at the same time it felt more believable and less risky than the ‘defected from Talon’ story. As soon as McCree was able to explain the recall and the work the current Overwatch was doing, Billie nodded along and there was much less deception necessary.

They talked, they joked, laughed, Billie talked about her farm, the handful of Omnic farmhands that had come and were installing solar grids for their kin.

“You give any thought to what you’ll do when all this Talon mess is over?” said Billie, refilling their mason jar glasses.

“Well… we’ll need to make sure the mess is over, first,” said McCree, taking a sip.

“Jesse,” Billie said, looking at him with a weariness in her eyes that hadn’t shown itself until now.

“Look, truth is, we don’t know how things are going to turn out,” said McCree, “We don’t know if we’ll…” He trailed off and Sombra put a hand on McCree’s prosthetic.

“If you’ll make it out of this alive,” said Billie, her grip tightening on her mason jar. 

McCree glanced off.

Billie furrowed her brow, “You made it out of Overwatch. You’ve made it this far,” she said, half to herself, half to McCree, “You’ll make it back. You’d better promise.”

McCree huffed, “Promise,” he said. 

“And you,” Billie glanced over at Sombra, she gestured at McCree with her thumb, “My boy here has a tendency to run off with notions of heroism and delusions of grandeur. He’s got a good heart and I can’t stop that shit, so I’m counting on you to make sure he doesn’t get his ass killed doing it.”

“I assure you, McCree’s ass is in good hands,” said Sombra with a smile.

Billie snickered into her own glass. “I like you,” said Billie, wagging a finger at Sombra before her watch beeped. “Dinner’s done, she said, standing up and heading to the kitchen, “McCree–can you help me out?”

“Sure,” McCree stood up and walked after her.

“So how much of that was bullshit?” said Billie under her breath as she ladled out pozole into bowls. McCree gave a glance back to Sombra, out of earshot in the dining room, who had turned her attention to a wall of photos of McCree and others. 

“The early stuff, but the rest’s true,” said McCree.

“Who is she really?” said Billie.

“I ask myself that every day,” said McCree with a slight smile.

“Jesse,” said Billie.

“…Look, I can’t say it’s too dangerous for you to know–but it is too dangerous for  _her_  if  _you_  know,” said McCree.

Billie’s brow furrowed. “Fine,” she huffed.

Dinner was a great deal quieter than the drinks had been earlier, if only because everyone was now stuffing their faces with Pozole, though there were a few stories swapped. Sombra offered to help with the dishes afterward but Billie insisted she was a guest and made McCree help instead.

 The desert sky was dense with stars as they hung out on the porch. Billie smoked from a pipe, wrapped in a red and brown ruana. Sombra and McCree shared his serape, sitting on the porch steps.

“I can’t look after this place forever,” said Billie, “You were the closest thing I ever had to a kid—”

“Billie, don’t you start–”

“No. You need to hear this,” said Billie, pointing her pipe at McCree, “You make it out of that mess alive, you know you’ve got a home here. I can teach you what I know, make sure it’s all in good hands when I’m gone. I know you Overwatch types are all ‘go out in a blaze of glory’ or some such nonsense, but you oughta know you have a place to rest. You don’t need to die god-knows-where fighting god-knows-who. You understand me?”

McCree tilted the brim of his hat up with his thumb, “I understand,” he said. 

“Good. Y’all want one more round?” said Billie, standing up.

“Sure,” said McCree, tapping the ash off of a hand-rolled cigarette.

Billie headed inside.

Sombra whistled. “That was intense,” she said.

“You’re tellin’ me,” said McCree.

“Jesse McCree, Agave farmer,” she paused, “I won’t say it has a nice ring to it, but… there’s a ring to it.”

“You ever think about that?” said McCree.

“Think about what?” said Sombra.

“What you’ll do when the fighting’s done,” said McCree.

Sombra was quiet.

“Sombra?” McCree said.

Sombra just pulled his serape tighter around herself. 

“Sombra—how do you see this ending?” said McCree.

“There’s a bigger picture…” Sombra started quietly

“That ‘eye’ thing again?” said McCree.

“Someone needs to find out who’s pulling the strings,” said Sombra.

“You’re not answering me. How do you see this ending?” said McCree.

“Likeliest scenario? I die alone—bullet in the back of my head because I found out too much and wasn’t careful enough,” said Sombra.

“Okay,” said McCree, “Morbid.”

“The other scenario–best scenario–I get to the top,” said Sombra.

“And then…?” said McCree.

“Either I take over, or I collapse the whole system,” said Sombra, “Depends on what I learn along the way.”

“You know I got your back, right?” said McCree.

“I know,” said Sombra, “But you’re also a liability.”

“I can handle myself,” said McCree.

“I mean you’re  _my_  liability,” said Sombra.

McCree paused for a few seconds. “You  _love_  me,” he said with the same smirk she had earlier.

“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” said Sombra.

McCree just pulled her in a little tighter. 

\---

Billie had pulled out a futon for the two of them, and they were more or less tangled in each other with a couple of cheap quilts and throw pillows. McCree gave a glance down at Sombra, under his arm and against his side, the neural implants along her undercut glowing and fading with her breathing.

“Sombra,” said McCree.

“Mm,” Sombra just buried her face in the side of his chest.

“Sombra,” McCree said again.

“Nnnh,” Sombra curled up tighter.

McCree sighed. “Olivia,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Sombra’s eyes snapped open and she looked at him. “We  _said_ —” Sombra said, her voice hushed but deadly serious.

“I know,” said McCree, “I just… I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said…that worst case scenario…”

Sombra sighed. “McCree…” she said, closing her eyes.

“I’m not letting it end like that,” he said, “You’re not gonna—It’s not happenin’.”

“That’s very sweet, Jesse,” said Sombra, readjusting herself back to a comfortable position.

“I’m serious. You keep pulling this snarky ‘Oh I can handle myself’ shit, but we both know you’re in over your head with this ‘eye’ stuff.”

“I’ve been in over my head for well over 15 years, McCree. I’m used to it,” said Sombra.

McCree brushed along her cheekbone with his thumb. “Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean you gotta keep going it alone,” he said, “You got people who give a shit about you.”

“Aw, you give a shit about me,” said Sombra, smirking against his chest.

“I love you,” said McCree.

There was a long pause. Sombra adjusted herself again to look at him, putting some weight on his chest. Her neural implants glowed in the dark as she stared at him.

“What,” said McCree, “You gonna go all ‘Aw you  _love_  me’ and make a joke of it?”

She kissed him.

 It took him half a heartbeat to register what was happening in the dark, but quickly he pulled her close and let her weight sink in on top of him. Neither of them was 100% how long they kissed and before sleep swept over them. Neither of them particularly minded.


	11. Ensemble: Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Done for the Day 2 Prompt of Gency Week: "Snow"

The sky was white and steel-gray, framed by the dark pines of the black forest. Snowflakes were falling softly on the ruined buildings, and sliding down from tree boughs in cascades of white.

“And so we find ourselves here again, Brother,” Hanzo stood atop a creaking wooden balcony, his voice was clear but muted by the snow all around them, “It seems we cannot escape our fate.”

“All of that time on the Watchpoint…” Genji spoke up to him, his ribbon and a knit scarf wafting in the winter wind, “All of your efforts to forgive and redeem yourself, did it all mean nothing to you?”

“All that has ever mattered to me, Genji, is victory,” said Hanzo, “I do what I must.”

“Brother! No!” shouted Genji, and he ducked out of the way of a snowball, which exploded into powder on a tree trunk behind him. Genji did several artful flips and dodges out of the next barrage of snowballs, taking cover behind the wreckage of a bastion unit and feverishly rolling up snowballs himself.

“So he’s just… incapable of taking anything lightly?” said Mercy, packing up snowballs next to him.

“This  _is_  Hanzo we’re talking about,” said Genji, “But there is conflict in his heart! I can see it in his eyes,” he gripped her shoulders, his visor bright, “We may still win the day! Trust me.”

“…Genji, it’s a snowball fight,” said Mercy, setting another snowball on the pile.

—

“I think you two get a little too into this,” said McCree, clambering up onto the balcony next to Hanzo but Hanzo held up a hand and McCree went silent.

“Ours is a long and troubled history–with that single snowball, a deep-set rivalry has been reignited,” Hanzo’s voice was deep, grim, and Jesse would be lying if he said he wasn’t really into that, yet the context of this tone was a little concerning.

“Because you didn’t have a rivalry before…?” McCree tugged at his single mitten, not bothering to keep his prosthetic warm.

“In the winter of twenty seven years ago—” Hanzo began.

“Darlin’ we’re in the middle of a snowball fight–you don’t need a tragic backstory for–”

“An atmospheric anomaly buried Hanamura in no less than 9 inches of snow in two days. The snowball fight that ensued between Genji and I is one only whispered of in Shimada legend–”

“Again–siblings–you don’t really have to–”

“So furious was our feuding that our father, Sojiro, forced us both to declare armistice and shake hands. And so the peace has been kept–”

“Except for that bit where you uh… killed him.”

“—for 27 years. But this day… that peace is broken.”

“Well you know you always got me backin’ you up,” said McCree with a grin.

“You grew up in a desert,” said Hanzo, packing more snow.

“Well yeah but back when we were kids Ashe dragged me up for a winter or two at her folks’ cabins in Vail, so I know my way around—”

McCree got creamed hard in the side of the head with a snowball so hard his hat got knocked off, shock written in every one of his features as he was thrown off balance and fell on his side with a grunt.

“Jesse!” Hanzo cried out in alarm only to hear a sneering laugh and a whispery chuckle fill the air. Hanzo looked up to see Widowmaker, perched on the half-collapsed  roof of an opposite building, a grin on her face and a small stockpile of snowballs near her feet.

“Americans,” she said with a superior smile.

“Ah, shit it went down my shirt…” McCree grunted as he got up, brushing snow out of his hair and getting his hat back on.

“I will avenge you,” Hanzo said, his eyes narrowing at Widowmaker.

“Be on your toes, Sombra’s never far behind her,” muttered McCree, picking up a snowball.

–—

“Why did you throw that snowball at him!?” Genji said, packing more snow.

“I was aiming for Jesse!” Mercy pressed her mittened hands to her forehead.

“Let me rephrase that: Why did you immediately point at me and say ‘He did it’ when Hanzo turned around?”

“You’re brothers. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal…” said Mercy with a shrug, “And when Hanzo…  _glares_  at you like that–” she shuddered a little “Hoo! It was kind of a gut reaction.”

“You have set in motion something much bigger than you realize,” said Genji, putting a thinly gloved hand on the side of her face, his prosthetic cool through the cloth, “I don’t know if I can protect you.”

“…Genji, I feel the need to once again remind you that this is a snowball fight,” said Mercy, flatly.

“And some people don’t like playing fair,” said Sombra, appearing in a haze of violet pixels with an armful of snowballs.

Mercy shrieked and threw a snowball, hitting Sombra in the face.

“Gah!” Sombra translocated in a purple flash.

“Oh I  _hate_  that thermoptic cloaking!” said Mercy, “Now I’m going to be on edge this whole time!”

“At least she always translocates if you manage to hit her,” said Genji.

Somba reappeared next to Widowmaker on the roof in another purple flash.

“ _Arañaaaaaa,_ ” she moaned from behind Widowmaker.

“What is it?” said Widowmaker, her tactical visor down.

“I got hit in the face. Comfort me,” said Sombra.

“There there,” Widowmaker said flatly, “Now go flank. I’m busy looking for the archer.”

“Stupid sniper rivalry,” Sombra muttered under her breath as she reactivated her thermoptic cloaking.

Widowmaker scoffed and rolled her eyes, “As if I would consider someone who uses a  _paléolithique_  weapon like that my rival. He’s little more than an annoying—”  A snowball whizzed past her head and she ducked down, “He’s just given away his position!” she said fiercely before grabbing snowballs and firing away.

Both Hanzo and McCree ducked, leapt, and rolled out of the onslaught of snowballs, McCree taking another shot in the shoulder, and Hanzo getting pelted in the ribs. They hid behind the half-collapsed wall of a building, a powderball exploding on the bricks behind them.

“Almost have an angle…” Genji said quietly, sneaking through the pines, “Almost—“ he saw Hanzo’s hair ribbon wafting n the breeze and his visor tightened, “There!” He dove out from his tree cover and threw a snowball at Hanzo, only for it to explode in mid-air only a few feet in front of him.

“ _Ay—Mierda!_ ” Sombra’s thermoptic cloaking came off, revealing powder all over the front of her coat, “You got me in the boob!”

“Well I didn’t  _see_  you there, obviousl—Oh no,” Genji’s attention turned to Widowmaker on her perch, snowballs in hand and death in her eyes.

“Oh  _now_  you care,” said Sombra, putting her hands on her hips and looking up at Widowmaker. Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed.

“Genji look out!” Mercy tackled him out of the way of another snowball and he pulled her to her feet as they both started running, both Sombra and Widowmaker’s snowballs smacking them both in the back. Genji knew they were in Hanzo’s line of sight as well now, they reeled around another building only for both of them to run headlong into Jack and Zenyatta.

“Sorry—” Genji scrambled to get off of Jack while Mercy helped Zenyatta pick up some of his orbs from out of the snow from their impact.

“The hell is going on?” said Jack, “You were supposed to rendezvous at the Orca half an hour ago.”

Genji and Mercy started talking at the same time.

“Ah yes, well Angela threw a snowball—“

“Jesse said I was being ‘uptight’ so—”

“And then it hit Hanzo—”

“And Hanzo is taking this far too seriously—”

“Okay—Look,” Jack started, “Can you talk one at a—”

_“It’s hiiiiigh nooooon.”_

“What?” Jack looked up and only saw McCree’s outline against the white winter sun for half a second before Jack, Genji, Mercy, and Zenyatta were all pelted in the face with snowballs.

“How—Pfft—“ Mercy brushed some snow away from her mouth, “How does he even  _do_  that?! They’re snowballs!”

“He says he’ll tell me when I tell him what the Dragons are,” said Genji.

Mercy scoffed and then looked over at Jack, who was brushing snow away from the edges of his tactical visor.

“Uh, Jack?” Mercy started.

“I didn’t start this war,” Jack said, packing up some snow and standing up. He turned on his tactical visor. “But I’m damn well going to finish it.”

“Agreed,” Zenyatta floated up next to him, snowballs gripped in his multiple transcendence arms, “I believe this team could use a lesson in humility.”

“…Run?” said Mercy.

“Run,” agreed Genji.

They both took off sprinting for the orca as the Black Forest became a storm of snowballs behind them.


End file.
